


Space

by spoky



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluffy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoky/pseuds/spoky
Summary: DISCLAIMER: This story is RPF, meaning that I use the star image of real people to tell a completely fictional story. It's not meant to offend or insult anyone. Please do not share my fiction with the people I write about on social media or otherwise. Thank you. (For full disclaimer, please see my profile.)Violet is consumed by jealousy.





	Space

 

 

I listen to your loud laughter on the phone.

 

I stand witness to the wide grins when you read her messages.

 

I tolerate it when you subconsciously reach for her whenever she’s next to you.

 

I take deep breaths whenever she wraps you into a tight hold for a greeting.

 

Sometimes I can smell her on you and it makes me sick in my mouth. I swallow but the rotten, acidic taste of half digested food always lingers.

 

Space. It’s my space she’s invading and I don’t know how to mark my territory.

 

I turn the key in the lock and step inside to the surprisingly scentless apartment. It’s late and I’m surprised that you’re not done with dinner. I place my keys on the kitchen counter quietly because I can hear voices in the bedroom. _Our_ bedroom.

 

I tiptoe behind the bedroom door and can barely hear over my beating heart. I’m trying to regulate my breathing, because while I know what I’m going to find, I need confirmation. I need irrefutable evidence. I hear you giggle out her name, _Trixie,_ and the tone is like hundred tiny scalpels shearing through my lower abdomen. I glance down, fully expecting to see my guts oozing out, slowly slithering to the floor, onto my toes, onto _our_ hardwood floor.

 

I blink as I hear her voice and suddenly the floor is clean. Her voice doesn’t hurt me. No, her voice has no power over me. It’s _you_  her voice has bewitched. You’ve always been under her spell.

 

I walk back to the kitchen and I’m again surprised that you haven’t even started cooking. It’s late. You’re supposed to be done with dinner by now. You _promised_ to be done with dinner. Your voice seems to echo in our apartment walls. _Trixie, Trixie, Trixie._

 

I open one of the kitchen drawers and pick up the knife you once used to carve hard plastic. I choose it because I know it won’t bend. It won’t give in. That’s why you wanted it in the first place, you needed something for harder materials. I grasp the handle tightly and examine the shiny steel. There’s a reflection of my red lipstick on the blade, the tone you helped me to choose.

 

I’m not surprised at what I find as I silently, carefully push open the bedroom door. It’s you. And it’s her. And it’s _our_ bedroom.

 

I watch her leaning over you, fucking you with slow steady thrusts. Your tan contrasts her pale, light skin almost equally well as the black sheets. _Our_ sheets. Her back shimmers with sweat and your toes curl as you beg her to fuck you faster. _Please Trixie, please_ _._ She grunts and you moan in pleasure as she picks up the pace.

 

I walk slowly next you and lift my hands over my head. I squeeze the handle of your knife in my hands and before either of you have time to notice my presence, I swing my hands down with the all the force of accumulated adrenaline. I don’t detect any resistance as the blade sinks into her back. The knife is perfect for harder materials. I keep the knife at place and watch as the red, warm, tangy liquid oozes underneath my hands. It runs down her back, towards her hips and drips onto our black sheets.

 

I lift my hands over my head with one quick swing, only to bring them back down again. Her body doesn’t put up a fight, but accepts the blade easily between the ribs. Her body shakes a little and the sound of her coughs catches my attention. I turn my gaze towards the sound, the voice that you hold so dear, and see that she has spat blood all over your beautiful face. It’s still dripping between her lips and she’s trying to say something. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been listening to that voice too long, too much and the easiest way to silence her forever is to repeat my earlier actions. So I repeat, and repeat. I can hear you screaming and calling my name but I don’t stop. I just repeat. Because I don’t want to hear that voice anywhere ever again. Not in our bed, not in our apartment, not in our city or in our country -- not in our reality.

 

“VIOLET!” you scream and I blink.

 

I’m in the kitchen and I’m leaning over the drawer where we keep kitchen knives. I realise I’m crying only because I can feel tears on my cheeks. I raise my eyes up and see you standing there, on the threshold of our bedroom, fully clothed. You’re holding your phone and you look scared.

 

“What’s going on?” you ask and you sound even more scared than you look.

 

I shut the drawer with a bang and slide to the floor. It’s hard to breathe and I try to pound my chest to make more space for air. Space. I need more space. My space. Our space. I need her _out_ of our space.

 

You kneel next to me but you don’t touch me. I must look like a monster, consumed by jealousy like this. I glance up and as our eyes meet, you finally recognise that it truly is me, underneath all of this hatred and rage, underneath this pain.

 

“Oh, babe,” you say and wrap me into a tight embrace. “What’s wrong?”  

 

I don’t want to admit the feelings that I have. I don’t want to tell you that I don’t trust you not to leave me for her. I don’t want to acknowledge that I’m scared that you love her more than you love me, that she’ll eventually consume all of my space. The space I have in your life. My space.

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper quietly. “I’m sorry, but we need to talk about Trixie.”

 

I can feel you tense at my words and I hate myself for it. I’m taking away something sacred and rare; I’m going to set boundaries between you and her, because I just can’t bare the thought of her consuming more of my space.

 

You stay silent for a long time and we just listen to each other’s breaths. Then you sigh deeply.

 

“Yeah, we can talk about Trixie.”

 

My heart breaks a little, because I know you deserve better, but I want my space.

 


End file.
